


sweet as lambs

by Nakimochiku



Category: Kings
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Internalized Homophobia, Jack and David are actually good friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack can pinpoint the exact moment David realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet as lambs

Jack knows the exact moment David figures it out. He makes a show of smiling at a pretty girl, attempting to catch her by the hand and grin, all charming like honey. But that doesn’t fix the look of sudden realization that spreads over David’s whole face, starting between his brows, under his eyes, at his mouth, until his whole expression is open with his discovery. Jack looks away before the expression can become horror and pretends not to notice anything, downing the rest of whatever’s in his cup and waving at the bartender for more. He’s tempted to tell her to leave the bottle.

“You’re—“ David starts, but he pauses and presses closer, so that his whole body is warm against Jack’s side, and there’s not a chance of anyone else hearing them. He’s grateful for that, and less grateful that David tries to think through his words, trying to find a delicate way to call him a monster, a freak. He waits for David to call him an abomination and slugs back another drink.

“What?” he grouses, but he knows his own tone well, and David knows it better. It’s somewhere between defensive and playing at innocent. He makes sure not to look at him.

“You’re into guys?” David whispers against his ear, and Jack’s mouth goes tight as he clamps down on a shiver. He thinks of denying it, or laughing, of playing it off, of literally anything else. But David’s open, honest expression, the soft careful neutrality of his words, begs Jack to be as honest with him now as David is with him every day.

He wants to laugh. All that comes out of his mouth is a wretched sound and “please don’t tell my father!” David’s curious expression grows alarmed, and he presses closer, presses Jack until the bar digs uncomfortable into his back, and his arm brackets one side of his hip. David’s taller than him, no one can see his face, pale and splotchy with coming tears that he breathes deeply and tries to will away.

“hey hey hey.” David says, a low whisper Jack can barely make out over the music. “I won’t tell the king anything. Not a thing. You can trust me, hey?” he leans down, wraps his thick fingers around the back of Jack’s neck, lets his thumb stroke over his jaw. “It’s me, it’s Davy, right?” Jack nods, knows that David’s just being a brother, touching him like a brother. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting—

He wonders how okay with all this David would really be if he found out who, specifically, Jack is into.

“I wish you’d told me earlier.” David says conversationally when the threat of tears has passed and Jack decides he’s not even remotely drunk enough for this. “All those times, all that—“

“It’s a secret for a reason.” Jack says. “The future king can’t be into those sort of depraved activities—“

“That’s your father I hear.” David snaps. “You don’t have to be afraid of me too.” He presses the length of their legs together, bumps shoulders. “Not me too.” Jack stiffens, watches the tense line of David’s mouth, and shoves a wad of cash at the bartender for the entire bottle of whatever she’s got nearest. He doesn’t want to think anymore, he doesn’t want to think of every single thing he’s sacrificed.

The thing he wants the most is standing just beside him, watching him ruin himself, and yet he’s still so goddamn far away.

“What about that one?”  David says suddenly, raising his glass at a distant, dimmer corner of the club. Jack follows his gaze and grins, slips back into his playboy prodigal prince persona as easy as climbing into a tailored straightjacket.

“Brunette, blue dress?” he takes a sip of his bottle. “You got good taste, man, her legs are—“

“Not her. The guy beside her that looks like her protective older brother.” David turns to him with a grin, as though to say “its all fine. You’re fine. This is fine.” It doesn’t feel fine. It feels like a fucking trap, and Jack thinks he’s gonna be sick, but David’s smile pins his nausea through the gut like a butterfly. Like a goddamn butterfly. “He’s pretty. Obviously he and his sister got the same legs.”

“Not my type.” Jack says roughly, playing along, downing more liquor, vodka he thinks but he doesn’t care to check, in a gulp. “I’m into blondes.”

“Yeah?” David grins, bumps him with his elbow and gestures to a guy a few tables from them. He’s slight, got good full lips that’d look great around a cock and Jack nearly gags at his own thoughts, thinks he feels tears stinging in his eyes, because of course David doesn’t know how much he’s torturing him in his attempt to show how good a friend he is.

And Christ he’s a good friend, that’s why Jack can’t lose him. “Not him either.” His voice is shaking, but he tries to be his straight jacket persona again. It’s not that bad, it’s not that strange, it’s not that hard. They’re just talking about guys. They are allowed to talk about guys. He ignores the blur of David’s voice asking “why not?” “I got a type, Davy. I like ‘em big and muscle-y and blonde, with blue eyes, and sweet as lambs.”

He wants David to hate him.

“I’ll find the perfect one—“

“David, stop.” Jack presses his hand to his bicep to stop him from moving from the bar, and feels like he’s made him as filthy and depraved as himself for it. “I can’t go home with them, Davy.” He wants to sob it. He wants to spit it all up on the floor with the liquor in his belly over David’s shoes. He just laughs like he’s breaking and thinks of smashing his bottle over someone’s head. “I can’t take any of them home with me, I can’t make any one proud, I can’t—“

He sways, David catches him under his arms and heaves him up. “You’re drunk, Jack, let’s get you home, get you in bed—“

“Like to get you in bed—“ but he doesn’t mean to say that, doesn’t mean to –

David just laughs. “Well, I’m your type, Jack. Big and blonde and blue eyed. Ain’t so sure about sweet as a lamb,” Jack struggles to assure him he is. “But at least you can take me home.” He grins good naturedly, hauls Jack up onto his feet, and starts out of the club.

Jack wonders if David knows his sweet little smile will be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> since i'm so invested in this fandom i should obviously write more porn for these two. instead, have more wishful thinking on Jack's part.


End file.
